I seen too many dudes do the girl they love grimey for it not to damage my faith in love. The sickest part is in these situations I’ve witnessed, the man really LOVES his girl, I mean, really, but still cheats. How can I believe? It’s not even the sexual part that hurts. It’s the fact that these mistresses get to know a part of YOUR man that you don’t even know. His main gets his utmost respect while his side gets his rawness. Who cares? One of them still has a piece of him that the other doesn’t. I’m not even speaking from personal experience. Just what I witness. I have nine brothers and I was raised by a single father so I don’t have the pleasure of being blissfully unaware like most girls. There’s nothing I want more than to be optimistic about love and relationships, trust me, but I’d be living in la-la land.

He did what? He fucked who?
We know the story, what’s new?
See I could probably, rush you
Tell you that he should have loved you
Take advantage, fuck you…
Tell you I’ll do all the shit he wouldn’t do
But the truth is, we all the same
On different teams, but it’s all a game
The objective - tryna score
You got a wife, you find a whore
You fuck her fast, she find her drawers
Pull up her pants, you find the door
You drive her home, she mop you off
You bust again, and drop her off
Then repeat like an episode
Why we cheat? I’ll never know

-Big Bruh, J. Cole

(Source: alexisbelon.net)

When I get tumblr famous, which is inevitable, now that I have a dslr, I am not acknowledging ANY of these already tumblr famous hoes who suddenly try to befriend me. Sometimes I randomly message people to give them props for their style or blog or what-ever-the-fuck, and I notice not one of these bitches with a lot of followers have EVER bothered to reply back with a thank you. All the while, publishing all the ‘hate’ they receive to feed into their delusions of grandeur. Suck my dick. You are NOT actually famous. You “model” in the comfort of your own bedroom. You visit Union Square, (somewhere I walk past every day of my life), every few months and live off the thousands of photos you take with other tumblrers for the next 3 months to keep up your facade of a POPPIN’ life. You write your snide bullshit from a dark room because that’s what loners do nowadays. Kill it.

(Source: alexisbelon.net)

From now on, when I start talking to a dude, I’ma start off talking about me right off the bat. I’m a listener by nature.  I become completely enthralled by anyone I have a slight connection with (friends and relationships) that whenever they decide to share their depths with me, they get my full attention. Apparently, that’s rare in such a narcissistic generation because people seem so absolutely thrilled to have a completely nonjudgmental and attentive ear to confide in that they’ve usually offered their entire life story to me within our first encounter. And I take pride in that fact, I do. It’s an honor that people trust me with so much as soon as they meet me. It says something about my character. But lately, I’ve noticed me carrying on conversations with people for weeks on end, tending to their daily issues and cultivating to them as if they were my own, without them asking about how ANYTHING with me is going, not once. Quite frankly, I’m over it. It’s like reciprocity died right along with chivalry. These men… they just love talking about themselves. I mean, they just LOVE it. And I don’t mind being interested. Because it’s genuine. I really do enjoy getting to know people because it teaches me things. But when are you going to ask about my goals, my childhood, my insecurities or even just my fucking day?